Day of Reckoning
by EmyPink
Summary: Why is someone after Gibbs? What has it got to do with the late Jenny Shepard? And what will they discover that could change everything? Written for the NFA Ending Season Seven Challenge.
1. Prologue: A Bump in the Night

**Day of Reckoning **

By EmyPink

_Written for the NFA Ending Seven Challenge _

**Disclaimer:** All names and trademarks recognised as "NCIS" do not belong to me; I've just borrowed the characters for my own purpose.

**Rating:** T

**Parings:** None

**Characters:** Gibbs, Mike Franks, the team

**Genres:** Gen, Drama, Casefile, Suspense

**Warnings:** Spoilers for Judgement Day, as well as season six

**Summary: **Why is someone after Gibbs? What has it got to do with the late Jenny Shepard? And what will they discover that could change everything?

**A/N** This is AU story based on what potentially (but very unlikely) could happen in the _finale of season __seven_. It was written pre-Truth and Consequences, but that shouldn't make a difference to the story.

---

**Prologue: **_A Bump in the Night_

The night was clear and the moon was full. It and the stars shone down on the earth, illuminating the car parked in the driveway of a Washington D.C. house. All was quiet, all was still. Many of the neighbours' houses were dark, though it wasn't that late. A light was on in the house with the car; it's light peaked through closed curtains.

Then, a twig snapped.

A figure, a shadowy figure, crept silently down the side of the house. He pushed open the gate that gave him access to the backyard. He crept forward and stopped as he heard a dog bark two doors down. The barking stopped and the man moved, silently.

He worked his way over to the backdoor and jiggled the handle. As expected, it opened easily with a little squeak. Pushing it open just enough for him to squeeze through, the figure robed in black slid through, making sure his backpack didn't get caught on the way.

He moved silently, like a tiger stalking its prey. His footsteps were not heard, neither was his breathing. He never bumped into a wall and never tripped over his feet, despite it being dark and without a flashlight. As he thought he heard a noise from upstairs, he froze and flattened himself against the wall. He counted to thirty, and moved again.

Finding his target, the man slipped off his backpack and opened it silently. He pulled out the equipment he needed; a red plastic square, multiple wires . . . and a cell phone. He worked quickly, efficiently, and was done within the hour. He surveyed his handiwork with a grim smile under his ski mask, and stepped back.

He packed up his equipment, slung the bag over his shoulder and crept back to the open backdoor. Silently, he pushed it open, stepped through and pulled it shut with a little click. He stilled as the dog barked again, and moved after its owner had yelled for it to shut up.

He silently manoeuvred himself back over to the side gate, slipping through it with elegant grace. Still silent, he walked casually away from the house, and down the street. He pulled off his mask, and shook out his longish brown hair. Then, he pulled out a cell phone and dialled a number.

Behind him, in the distance, a house exploded.


	2. Chapter One: Home is Where the Heart Is

**Chapter One: **_Home is Where the Heart Is_

Agent Gibbs' team sat quietly behind their desks. It was late, but they were working a case and as such, had yet to go home. They'd taken a quick half-hour lunch break and later on, a dinner break, but other than that, they had been chained to their desks.

McGee was trawling through two months worth of credit card statements and phone calls, Tony was tracking down anyone that had had a passing interest (past or present) in their missing Petty Officer, and Ziva was, well, was meant to be, going over the evidence photographs in case they had missed anything. Instead, her arms were folded on her desk, cushioning her sleeping head.

"Shouldn't you wake up Ziva?" Tony hissed, glancing over at McGee. The bullpen was the only space illuminated, with the rest of the floor shroud in darkness.

McGee looked up from his computer and muttered, "Why me?"

"Because," Tony shot back, glaring at McGee.

"Because?"

"Just because," Tony grumbled. He sighed and muttered, "This is stupid. What does Gibbs think we're gonna achieve by falling asleep at our desks?"

McGee shrugged and turned back to his computer. "It's a pretty important case, Tony. I think the Director has been on Gibbs' back about it."

"Figures," Tony harrumphed, crinkling a stray piece of paper into a ball and throwing at McGee's head.

The paper ball bounced off the side of McGee's head, and landed in the middle of his keyboard. McGee turned to Tony and shot him a glare that would have made Gibbs proud. "Tony!" he exclaimed, berating the other agent.

"Hey, I'm just trying to make this God forsaken place slightly more habitable. It's freaking creepy in the dark," Tony defended, looking darkly at McGee.

"We've worked nights before," McGee sighed.

Tony frowned. "Well, duh, McObvious. Tonight's different . . ."

"Your spidey senses telling you something, Tony?" McGee smirked.

"Maybe," Tony mused, looking thoughtful. "Now that you mention it, my gut . . ."

"It's probably indigestion, DiNozzo," Gibbs muttered as he passed Tony's desk, strolling into the bullpen clutching a coffee cup. "Or gas. Either way, you're full of hot air."

Tony looked affronted as McGee tried to hide his smile. Gibbs glared at the pair, before turning to the sleeping Ziva. Unlike McGee, who would have awkwardly tried to wake Ziva from the furthest possible distance, or Tony who would have pelted her with paper balls until she woke up to murder him, Gibbs walked softly over to the sleeping agent and crouched down beside her.

He touched her shoulder and she started awake, and for a moment, looked confused. Then she relaxed when she saw Gibbs' face. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and looked up, looking slightly sheepish.

"Sorry," she muttered, "I did not mean to fall asleep."

"Humph, well," Tony grumbled while McGee gave her a soft smile that clearly said 'don't worry about it.'

Gibbs shrugged, but didn't reprimand her for falling asleep on the job. Tony frowned, had it been him or McGee, they would have hit slapped upside down and berated. But Gibbs had said nothing, and Tony added it his growing list of 'things Gibbs does for Ziva but no one else.'

Instead, Gibbs turned to his other agents and glared at them, asking, "What have you got?"

"Nothing, boss," McGee apologised, looking slightly annoyed. "I've gone through all her credit card statements and phone records, and there's nothing to suggesting anything other than Petty Officer Carroll was a fine, upstanding member of the Navy."

"Fine, upstanding members do not just disappear leaving a trail of bodies behind them," Tony corrected.

McGee shrugged. "Whatever, but I have nothing."

"I've made a list of her contacts." Attention was turned to Tony and he waved a sheet of paper around. "Not that she had very many, past or present. A bit of a loner, our Petty Officer."

"Not bad, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, earning a smug grin by Tony directed at McGee, "and tomorrow morning you get to call them and find out what they know."

The grin slid from Tony's face. "All of them?"

"All of them," Gibbs echoed.

"But . . ." Tony started to complain.

"I though she didn't have many," Gibbs replied casually.

"No, but still . . ." Tony whined, by was silenced by a well placed glare.

Gibbs turned away from Tony, ignoring his protests and asked Ziva, in a much softer tone, "You get anything from the crime scene?"

Ziva shook her head. "Other than the blood we found the first time, I have not found anything out of the ordinary, nothing is out of place. She is what you call, a neat freak?"

"That about sums it up," Tony agreed.

Gibbs sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He was silent for a few moments, before starting, "Okay, I . . ."

He was rudely interrupted by the shrill shriek of his cell phone. Muttering under his breath, Gibbs cursed the phone and fished it from his pocket. He flipped it open and barked, "What?"

Faintly, Tony, McGee and Ziva could hear a male voice speaking on the other end of the phone. They glanced at each other in confusion, but then quickly looked away. An awkward silence filled the room as Gibbs listened to the voice on the other end of the phone, face impassive.

Finally, keeping his face blank, Gibbs muttered curtly, "I'll be there in twenty." He flicked the phone shut and stormed over to his desk.

Without saying a word to his bewildered team, Gibbs yanked his jacket from its resting place on the back of his chair and shrugged it on. He picked up the keys to his car and without looking at his team or speaking to them, Gibbs exited the bullpen and punched the "down" button fiercely.

As the door slid shut, the figure of their boss disappearing, Tony turned to McGee and Ziva and asked, "What the hell was that?"

---

Gibbs pulled up as close to the house as he possibly could, and was out of the car before it had a chance to fully come to a halt. He looked around. A red fire truck was parked directly in front of the house, its hose still attached and being directed towards a smouldering house. A smaller fire car was parked near it, and to Gibbs' annoyance, two distinct Metro cars were parked behind the engine.

There were a number of people milling about, from the fire-fighters dressed in their protective gear, to uniformed officers and neighbours in their night clothes. Gibbs sighed and made his way over to the cordoned off area. A Metro cop tried to stop him as he approached, but Gibbs pulled out his badge and flashed it irritably.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," Gibbs barked and lifted the crime scene tape up so he could slip under.

"Sir, you can't . . ." the young officer tried, but was silenced by a long glare from Gibbs.

"The hell I can." Gibbs ignored the officer's next comment, and stormed over to the fire chief, who was talking to a Metro sergeant.

"I've got the detectives on their way . . ." the sergeant was saying as Gibbs approached.

"Not anymore," Gibbs cut in, flashing his badge. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. This is my jurisdiction now."

"Now, hang on just a minute," the sergeant huffed. "You cannot just come and take . . ."

"Too right I can," Gibbs growled as he turned to the blackened house. It was completely destroyed, no doubt about it.

Gibbs sighed as the sergeant started up again. It was going to be a long night.

---

Back at NCIS, Tony, Ziva and McGee had abandoned their searching through Petty Officer Carroll's life and had turned their attention to a new mystery; who had Gibbs been talking to before storming out?

"Do ya think it has something to do with the case?" Tony asked, reclining in his desk chair.

"Perhaps," Ziva replied, "but it does not explain why Gibbs would not tell us."

"Maybe it's something personal," McGee suggested from his desk.

"Gibbs with a personal life?" Tony scoffed. "I don't think I've seen him with a "personal life" since Colonel Mann."

"_Grow_ up, Tony," Ziva muttered through clenched teeth. "Not all of us have a different "personal life" every week." She rolled her eyes.

"Nor do we have Mossad boyfriends turned traitors," Tony bit back nastily, knowing he was probably going a little too far.

"Granted," Ziva replied with a very controlled voice. "But not everyone falls in love with their mission . . ." She smiled innocently.

When Tony got a look in his eye that suggested he was about rip out Ziva's throat, McGee stood up. He stood up so quickly that his chair fell from under him and it clattered to the floor with a bang, making both Tony and Ziva jump. McGee winced, but managed a somewhat hard glare at the pair. He really didn't have the patience to play referee to another one of their fights, not this time.

"Look," he snapped, "just shut up. Gibbs will let us know if he wants us to know. If there is anything he wants us to do, he'll . . . Director?!"

"He'll director?" Tony muttered to himself. "He'll director what?"

"I think he means me, Agent DiNozzo," a sharp voice said. Tony's head sprung up and he found himself staring into the face of NCIS Director Leon Vance.

"Director," Tony said hastily. "Now nice it is to see on a lovely Friday night."

"Save it, Agent DiNozzo," Vance said curtly and turned to address the team as a whole, saying, "I'm taking you off the Carroll case, effective immediately." This didn't go down to well with the agents.

"What? But . . ."

"It's our case . . ."

"Surely, Director . . ."

Vance held up his hand to cut off all their attempts to protest. His gaze flickered from one agent to another as he stood, surveying the team.

Then he sighed and said calmly, "I'm taking you off the Carroll case because someone just blew up Agent Gibbs' house."


	3. Chapter Two: Boxed Surprises

**Chapter Two: **_Boxed Surprises_

The sun had just started to rise as three silhouettes emerged from the silver car. It was chilly, and little puffs of breathed air could be seen as the three figures removed equipment from the trunk of the car. The street was empty, save for the lone uniformed officer and the yellow crime scene tape strung around the burnt out shell of a house.

The three stepped forward, coming to a complete stop at the edge of the yellow tape. They all paused for a moment, as they took in the sight before them. One shivered, while the other rubbed his hands together for warmth. The third stood there, unmoving.

"Oh, my God," Tony said, awestruck, glancing up at Gibbs' burnt out house.

"Yeah," McGee echoed his sentiment.

Ziva said nothing.

"Are you the guys from NCIS?" the young officer asked, his eyes flicking from one agent to the other.

Tony nodded. "Agents DiNozzo, McGee and David. We're here to process the scene."

"Of course," the officer nodded, and offered no resistance as Tony lifted the yellow tape and allowed McGee and Ziva to step under it before following. "Do you need a hand?"

Tony shook his head. "We have it from here, thanks."

The officer nodded and returned where he had been standing beforehand, guarding the area just in case anyone was nosey enough to try and get a closer look at the wreck.

"So," McGee started slowly, looking at the burnt out door, "where do we start?"

"No damn idea, Probie," Tony muttered, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "No damn idea. This is Gibbs' house, after all."

"Where is the boss?" McGee asked, his head darting left and then right.

Tony shrugged. "No idea. I guess he would have had to have gone somewhere . . . God, this is a mess."

"Who would want to blow up Gibbs' house?" McGee agreed.

"That's what you are meant to be finding out," a voice boomed from behind them.

Tony and McGee jumped, and spun around to meet the gaze of their boss. Only Ziva remained still, staring at the destroyed house.

"Boss! I . . ." Tony faltered, not really knowing what to say. "I'm really sorry about your house," he finished quietly, and McGee nodded his agreement.

"Don't apologise," Gibbs snapped, irritated, "because –"

"It's a sign of weakness, I know," Tony finished.

"_No_. Because it wasn't your fault," Gibbs corrected in a slightly softer tone. "Unless you decided for some reason my house had to go."

"What? Of course not." Tony shook his head rapidly.

"Didn't think so, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied, a slight smirk on his face. He turned to the others. "McGee, I want you bagging and tagging anything that may be of relevance. Ziva, I want you to look for any traces of an incendiary device. DiNozzo, shoot and sketch. The fire investigator has deemed the site safe, so I expect it to be treated like any other crime scene. Got it?"

Tony and McGee replied with affirmatives, while Ziva merely nodded.

"Get to it then," Gibbs ordered, shooing his team away with his hands.

"We're not having much luck with houses," McGee murmured to Tony as they stepped away. "I mean, last year it was Ziva's apartment, and this year Gibbs' house. And the Director's the year before that. What's next?"

"Better hope you don't make any enemies, McGeek," Tony replied darkly as he swung the camera around his neck and turned his back to McGee.

If McGee replied to his comment, Tony didn't know.

---

Ziva was shifting through debris in what used to be the living room. According to the fire investigator, the explosion had originated from here and while it was smallish, the fire had spread rapidly; destroying the house before it even had a chance.

If she squinted, Ziva could make out the melted form of a couch, and the puddle of melted plastic reminded her suspiciously of a television set. But other than a few burned remains of Gibbs' former life, she had found nothing. There was no trace of an incendiary device, timer, bomb, or anything of that calibre. It was like the house had just evaporated.

With a gloved hand, she gently picked up another blackened object which might have been a book at one stage. Underneath it . . . nothing, nothing but more blackened items, more blackened dust. She sighed, shifted the debris to the side and picked up the next blackened object.

'What a waste,' she thought.

As she reached to move another burnt object, something caught her eye. It was hidden partly by debris, only its dull corner was showing. Abandoning her current lot of debris, she stepped over and plucked the object by its visible corner. She shook the flat object couple of times and some of the soot flew off it. Then she used the cuff of her jacket to wipe the surface.

Her eyes widened just a little bit.

Mostly undamaged, except for a few rough edges, curled corners and faded colour, an image of a younger Gibbs stared back at her, his arms around a red-haired woman and young girl.

Feeling intrusive, Ziva looked away and closed her eyes. The image of a grinning Shannon, a cheeky Kelly and her boss looking far younger and happier burned into her mind. Out of everything – _everything_ – that she had shifted through, this was the only thing that remained . . . an echo of Gibbs' former life.

"What have you got, Ziva?" a voice asked from behind her.

She started and spun around, almost wildly. Gibbs was standing in what used to be the doorway, looking at her curiously. Ziva glanced down at the photo, and then back up at Gibbs. Wordlessly, Ziva stepped over some debris and walked over to Gibbs. Without meeting his eye, she handed him the photo.

"I need some air," she said softly, stepping around Gibbs.

Confused, Gibbs looked down at the photo. His breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a tiny beat. Out of everything, everything that had been destroyed, nothing broke his heart more than the destruction of his photos – his memories of his dead wife and child.

"Ziva, wait," Gibbs called, and Ziva stalled. Slowly she turned back around to Gibbs, but maintained her position.

"Yes?"

"I . . ." Now that she had stopped, Gibbs didn't really know what he wanted to say. He gestured to the photo, and said nothing.

Ziva shrugged. "I thought you would want it," she commented quietly, looking at Gibbs, but not quite. She shrugged again. "I do not think you will find any left undamaged by the fire."

Gibbs had to agree with her there.

Finally, after a pause, Ziva finished, "And photos are precious, Gibbs. You must hold on to them."

"Ziva . . ." Gibbs moved from his position and carefully approached his agent. "I . . ."

"Don't," Ziva shook her head. "Just don't."

"I just wanted to say thank you."

"Don't," Ziva snapped again. "You have nothing to thank you me for." She tried to move away, but Gibbs caught her wrist gently.

"You know that's not true," he replied firmly, loosening his grip on Ziva, though he didn't let go fully.

"I should be the one thanking you," Ziva corrected, sounding anything but thankful.

"Ziva . . ." Gibbs warned.

She jerked her arm from his grip. "What do you want, Gibbs? What do you want _me_ to do? Sometimes I wonder why you did it all in the first place."

"I did it because you matter, Ziva," Gibbs said softly. "You're one of my team, I wasn't going to leave you behind."

"You did the first time," Ziva snapped, eyes glowing.

"You know that that wasn't my decision." Gibbs was starting to look angry. "In fact, if I remember correctly, it was you who . . ."

"You know what," Ziva cut in angrily, "sometimes I wonder why I even came back."

"Well, you know what," Gibbs remarked sarcastically, "I sometimes wonder that too. I went out of my way –"

"Oh, yes, Saint Gibbs." Ziva looked frustrated and sarcastic.

"I went out of my way to get Vance to reinstate you, to get you back into this country, _Special Agent_ David," Gibbs snapped.

"Yes, yes," Ziva nodded, though she was anything but agreeable. "I gave up my country, the last remains of my family, my job . . . I gave it all up for _you_."

"I did not make you do anything," Gibbs thundered. "I did not order you back to the States. You chose all that of your own free will."

"So it was my fault?"

"No, no." Gibbs took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced down at the photo, and suddenly looked very old and very sad. Looking Ziva directly in the eye, he said softly, "You would have died there, Ziva."

Ziva looked blank. "Mossad would have . . ."

Gibbs shook his head to cut her off. "I wasn't talking about Somalia." He winced at the name of the country; that was one thing he'd rather forget. "I was talking about Mossad. How long do you think you would have lasted? A year? Two?"

Ziva shrugged. "Well, I will never know, will I," she snapped.

"And that's a bad thing because . . .?"

"I never said it was a bad thing." Instantly, all the life seemed to drain out of her body. Gibbs stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Ziva . . ."

"Can we just forget about it?" Ziva sighed, looking far older than her age. "Please?"

Gibbs paused and then nodded. Things hadn't been the same since Ziva's return, and Gibbs knew they probably never would. What he once had, he had lost, so he had to make do with what he still had. And he still had his team. _All of them_. They'd just have to deal with it and make do.

"I want you to keep looking." Gibbs snapped straight back into investigator mode, as though the conversation had never happened.

Ziva looked relieved. "Of course, Gibbs."

"Good." There was an awkward pause. "I'll go see what McGee and DiNozzo are up to. Knowing DiNozzo, he's probably found a way to burn down what's left of this old thing." Ziva cracked a small smile as he squeezed her shoulder and stepped past her.

"And Gibbs." Gibbs stopped and turned around. "I am sorry about you house."

"I know," Gibbs murmured. "And I'm sorry too."

---

It was another good couple of hours before Gibbs and the team found themselves back at NCIS headquarters. It was still barely morning, but the team was already hard at work. Tony had thoroughly documented the house, and McGee had given Abby boxes of evidence collected from the scene. Only Ziva had nothing; she had found no trace of an incendiary device or any kind of bomb.

"It was definitely the work of a professional, Gibbs," Ziva concluded, standing in front of the plasma where photos of the destroyed living room were displayed. "There were no traces of explosives at the house, nor an incendiary device. It is likely the bomb was detonated remotely, but we have found nothing."

"I can see if I can get a list of the calls made around the time of the bombing," McGee suggested from his desk. "I'll run it through the database and see if anything abnormal turns up. It's possible the bomber was using a scrambler, or that the phone is pre-paid, meaning it's unlikely we'll get a hit. But it's worth a try, boss."

Gibbs nodded. "Get on it, McGee." McGee nodded and picked up his phone. Gibbs turned to Tony and thrust a piece of paper under his nose.

"A list of possible suspects," he told Tony. "Anyone that I've put away, anyone that might have a grudge against me, things like that."

Tony took one look at the list and exclaimed, "That's a long list, boss."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "I've been around a long time, DiNozzo. I want you to cross-reference all their whereabouts yesterday night."

Tony's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "All of them?"

"All of them," Gibbs repeated, glaring at Tony.

"On it, boss," Tony sighed, looking faintly green.

"And why are you so amused, David?" Gibbs asked Ziva, who had a small smirk on her face. "I want you to figure out how that explosion happened. Get down to the lab and work with Abby in recreating the most probable scenario."

Ziva nodded. "I will go there now."

"Good." Gibbs looked pleased. "And I want reports in –"

He was cut off as a member of the support staff walked cautiously into the bullpen. The young man was carrying a package, marked as express. He glanced at the agents, before zeroing in on Gibbs.

"This arrived for you, Special Agent Gibbs," the man said, holding out the package. "It came this morning, overnight express. It's been cleared so it's not going to explode in your face." He chuckled nervously, rumours of what had happened at Agent Gibbs' house were already flying thick and fast.

"Thank you," Gibbs said curtly, taking the package from the man. With a glare, Gibbs sent the man scurrying away, blushing.

Gibbs walked back to his desk, deposited to package on it and sat down heavily. He eyed the parcel suspiciously. While security had cleared it, he was still a little wary. He hadn't forgotten what happened last time one of his team had gotten an unsolicited piece of mail.

"Aren't you going to open it, boss?" Tony asked, looking intrigued from his desk.

Shooting Tony a look, Gibbs sighed and sliced open the package using his letter opener. He slid his hand inside the protective package and pulled out a wooden box. He held it up, and unable to hide their curiosity, his team gathered around his desk.

"So, open it already," Tony said impatiently. Then he paused and added darkly, "Or not. We wouldn't want to release another disease."

Gibbs gave Tony another look and pulled back the lid of the box, revealing its contents. Inside was . . . Gibbs looked at the object in shock. The others glanced at each other and craned their necks to see what had rendered Gibbs speechless.

"A necklace, boss?" Tony commented, confused. "Why would someone be sending you jewellery? Something you're not telling us, boss?"

"Can it, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped, sounding angry and confused and almost upset. "I know exactly what it is."

He paused. "It's the Director's."

"Vance wears a necklace?" Ziva looked utterly confused.

"No, David, Vance does not wear a necklace," Gibbs replied, exasperated. "It's Jenny's."

Tony choked on his mouthful of coffee. "What?! That's impossible!"

"Are you sure, boss?" McGee asked, looking at the necklace as though it would attack him. "I mean . . ."

"I'm sure and I guess it's not impossible," Gibbs replied stiffly.

"How . . ."

"I bought it for her," Gibbs replied evenly, no emotion in his voice, "in Paris. In 1999."


	4. Chapter Three: Paris Never Ends

**Chapter Three: **_Paris Never Ends_

The waves crashed gently against the shore. The sun was shining, its rays skimming off the edge of the water, making it sparkle. It was silent, except for the sound of the breaking waves. A lone man sat upon a chair in the middle of the sandy beach. He was wearing a shirt, and an ice chest was sitting next to him. A beer was in his hand, his face was relaxed and he was enjoying life.

Then, the tranquillity of the beach was disrupted by a young woman hurrying down the stairs that led to the beach. She was dark, and had on a long skirt and shirt.

"Mister Franks," she called out as she hurried over to the chair. "Mister Franks."

Mike Franks cracked open one eye and watched as Soraya came to a halt in front of him, blocking his sunlight.

"What is it, Soraya?" he muttered. "You're blocking my sun."

"A call for you, Mister Franks," Soraya panted, as though she had run a marathon. "At the cantina, you see."

Franks grumbled to himself. There was only one, possibly two, people that would ever bother to call him. "Let me guess, a Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"

Soraya nodded. "A Special Agent Gibbs, yes. He sounded very urgent, Mister Franks."

Franks sighed, and moodily got to his feet. "You'd better take me to him, then."

"Of course, Mister Franks," Soraya replied quickly. "This way, though you already know that."

She giggled and Franks offered her a smile. She blushed as she hurried away. He followed her, trying not to drag his feet as he left the sea, the sun and his beer behind. They made their way up to the cantina and the bartender wordlessly passed Franks the phone.

Sighing, he barked, "This better be good, Probie."

"You're needed here. Yesterday," came Gibbs' reply.

Franks rolled his eyes. "What have you done this time?"

"Seen a ghost," Gibbs replied casually.

"Ghost?" Franks sounded a bit confused.

"I'll explain when you get here."

"And what makes you so sure I'm coming?" Franks asked, and when he received no reply from the other end, he sighed, "I'm on my way. Need me to bring anything?"

"Decker's insurance policy," Gibbs replied calmly, and hung up before Franks had a chance to respond.

Shaking his head, Franks handed the phone back to the bartender. "Decker's insurance policy," he muttered to himself. "What the hell is going on, Probie?"

---

Tony, Ziva and McGee kept surreptitiously shooting their boss looks from their respective desks. Gibbs was sitting at his desk, apparently reading something off the screen, but they knew better. While his eyes were facing the screen, they were definitely not focusing on it. The bullpen was silent, and none of the team wanted to risk being the first to make some noise.

Ziva watched as Tony scribbled something onto a piece of paper, scrunched it up and chucked it at McGee's head. McGee started as the paper hit him on the side of his head and frowned. He glared at Tony, who gestured at him to open it. Rolling his eyes, McGee smoothed out the paper ball, read its contents, glanced over at Tony and shrugged, shaking his head.

Then, while Ziva was distracted, the ball of paper landed on her desk. She glared it for a moment, and then looked across to McGee, who had the decency to look a little sheepish. Giving both her team members a pointed look, Ziva sighed and unfurled the paper. In Tony's messy scrawl, the words said:

_What do you think's going on?_

Exasperated, Ziva picked up a pen and hastily scribbled her own reply. Scrunching up the paper, she chucked it back to McGee, who gave her a questioning look as he unfolded the paper. In Ziva's legible handwriting, she had written:

_Are we not adults? Why have we resorted to childish note writing games?_

McGee shrugged and chucked the note back at Tony, who read it and wrote his own reply. The note was chucked back to McGee before it ended up in Ziva's lap again. She rolled her eyes, and opened the piece of paper.

_Do __you__ want to be the first that speaks and feels the wrath of Gibbs? He's got that whole brooding thing, again. _

Ziva looked over to Tony and glared. She screwed up the piece of paper and threw it harshly at his head. It bounced off his forehead and clattered onto his desk. He reached up and rubbed the spot where the paper had hit, and glared viciously at Ziva.

"Do I have to send you to the principal's office?" Gibbs snapped from his desk without looking up or acknowledging his team. "Grow up, the lot of you. If you have something to say, say it to my face."

Tony, Ziva and McGee looked at one another before McGee and Ziva's gaze fell onto Tony. Tony shook his head vehemently and raised his arms, clearly saying 'not on your life.' McGee nodded and Ziva smirked, and the pair kept gazing at Tony until he started to fidget and feel uncomfortable. With a heavy sigh, Tony rose from his desk and shuffled over to Gibbs'.

"Boss?" he said tentatively.

"DiNozzo," was Gibbs' terse reply.

"I, uh, we were wondering . . ." He glanced sideways at McGee and Ziva. ". . . What-what the necklace thing was all about."

Gibbs gave him a withering look. "Your guess is as good as mine, DiNozzo. If I knew, do you think I would be sitting here?"

"Uh, probably not," Tony replied. He paused and then said casually, "Are you totally sure it's the Director's, uh, Jenny's?"

Gibbs glare was so hard that Tony immediately backtracked. "I take that as a yes," he said quickly, wincing.

Feeling very awkward, Tony was saved from any further reprisals by the elevator bell chiming. All four looked over instinctively as the doors opened. Dressed in trousers and an old shirt, Mike Franks stepped out of the elevator and walked over to the bullpen with a slight swagger. He came to a halt in the entrance to the bullpen and looked around.

"DiNozzo. McGee. Ziva." He nodded at each agent and even offered Ziva a little smile. They looked rather dumbstruck and Franks came to the conclusion that Gibbs had not told them he was coming.

He sighed and stepped into the bullpen, looking at Gibbs. "So, Probie, what's so urgent that you had to pull me away from my siesta?"

Abruptly, Gibbs stood, grabbed something from his desk, and beckoned for Franks to follow him. Gibbs stormed out of the bullpen and over to the elevator. He pressed the call button harshly. Franks gave the remaining team a questioning look.

"Don't I even get a hello? What's up with him?" he asked gruffly.

Tony gave him a small, sad smile. "When you find out, you tell us."

Franks sighed heavily, nodded at the agents again and followed Gibbs to the elevator. It has just announced its arrival when Franks was close enough to be grabbed by Gibbs and pulled into the elevator. The doors slid shut.

---

After the doors slid shut, Gibbs reached out and whacked the emergency stop button. The carriage was plunged into darkness and it stalled. There was silence as Franks gave Gibbs a once over. He looked stressed, tired and really pissed off – not a great combination.

"What's going on, Probie?" Franks asked gently, well, as gently as it could be when it came to Mike Franks.

Gibbs sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "My house burnt down, Mike."

Franks blinked twice; whatever he'd expected it certainly hadn't been that. "What?"

"It's exactly what I said," Gibbs snapped, though his voice was tinged with sadness.

"I'm sorry, Probie." Franks reached out and put a hand on Gibbs' shoulder in a show of solidarity support.

"Yeah," Gibbs murmured, "me too."

After another heavy silence, Franks commented, "I'm guessing you didn't call me all the way down here just to tell me that, so out with it."

"It wasn't an accident," Gibbs replied evenly. "My house – it was burnt to the ground on purpose."

"And you're not thinking it's just a kid pyromaniac out for a bit of fun," Franks replied wirily. Gibbs shook his head and Franks said, "Didn't think so."

"It was night," Gibbs continued, voice void of emotion. "I'm thinking they thought I was inside asleep."

"A targeted attack; at you," Franks finished and it was confirmed with a slight nod. "So, who'd ya piss off this time?"

Gibbs fished in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a sparkling necklace. It was delicate silver, with a trim of small cut, round red stones that perfectly matched a certain redhead's hair colour. Gibbs ran his thumb over some of the stones as Franks gave a low whistle.

"That's a mighty fine piece of jewellery, Probie," Franks exclaimed. "You didn't steal it, did you?" Gibbs rolled his eyes; he knew Franks wasn't being serious.

"I bought it," Gibbs said finally, quietly. "In Paris. 1999."

A look of realisation dawned on Franks' face. He remembered what Gibbs had asked him to bring. "Jenny's?"

Gibbs nodded mutely. "I received it this morning." He grimaced sarcastically. "Express post. And just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse."

"So what are you thinking?" Franks asked, eyeing the necklace Gibbs was clutching. With one look, Franks immediately knew what Gibbs was thinking. He shook his head.

"Paris is over, Probie. Svetlana Chernitskaya is dead," Franks said firmly, "as is Anatoly Zukov."

"Their associates might not be," Gibbs responded darkly.

"Even so, how in the world would have they gotten a hold of Jenny's necklace?" Franks reasoned. "We burnt that place to the ground."

Gibbs lashed out at the elevator wall. "You don't think I've been asking myself that for the better part of the day? Just when I finally thought . . ." He trailed off, sighed and looked as though he had aged twenty years in twenty seconds.

Again, Franks reached out and put a hand on Gibbs' shoulder. "A bit of a shock out of the blue, huh."

"That's the understatement of the year," Gibbs muttered. He paused and then said, "What about Decker's insurance policy?"

"Never looked." Franks pulled out an envelope and waved it under Gibbs' nose. Gibbs made a grab for it, but Franks pulled it away. Gibbs glared, but Franks shook his head.

"If anything, now's the time for looking. Give me the damn envelope, Mike," Gibbs ordered.

Franks shook his head again. "Not going to happen, Probie."

"Why the hell not?" Gibbs snapped, looking frustrated.

"Now is not the time," Franks said firmly, and reached over to activate the elevator again. It sprang to life. "You don't know if Decker's insurance policy is connected to the necklace, or to your house."

"So, what? You're saying it's a coincidence?"

Franks shrugged.

"I don't believe in coincidences."

The doors chimed and opened onto into the floor that housed Gibbs' bullpen. With a stony face, Gibbs marched out of the elevator and back to his team, glaring at them as he entered. Franks sighed and glanced down at the envelope in his hand before following Gibbs back into the bullpen.

---

"McGee!" Gibbs barked as he strolled purposely into the bullpen. "I want you to find me all associates of Svetlana Chernitskaya aka Natasha Lenkov, as well as all associates of Anatoly Zukov."

"Boss?" McGee looked shocked. He knew those names from the investigation into the Director's death.

"Don't question me, McGee!" Gibbs shouted, pointing to McGee's computer. "Just do it!"

"Yes, boss," McGee replied immediately, shocked into a response. "Right away, boss." He started to tap away at his computer as if his life depended on it.

Gibbs turned on Tony and Ziva just as Franks trailed in after him. "David, I want you reviewing the 1999 case file. DiNozzo, you get the Director's death."

Ziva nodded obediently, but Tony blanched. "Is-is that necessary, boss?" Tony questioned, almost meekly.

Gibbs' glare gave him all the answers he needed. "Right, on it, boss," Tony muttered, looking faintly green. He really didn't want to read about his failures that had cost a life. McGee shot him a concerned glance, and Ziva didn't even acknowledge him at all, something that was quite common these days. Sighing, Tony pulled up the file on Jenny Shepard's death.

"Is there anything you want me to do, Probie?" Franks asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Gibbs shook his head. "I think you've done enough," he remarked. "Go get a coffee or something."

Before Franks could reply, McGee's voice rang out. "Boss, I'm trying to get access to some files but they're encrypted and classified."

"So?"

"So, that means they're inaccessible," McGee replied.

Gibbs stared at him. "Are you a computer expert or what? Hack them."

McGee looked unsure. "Look, boss, I know I may have done it in the past without much thought, but things are . . ."

"Do it, McGee," Gibbs ordered. "I want those files."

"Yes, boss," McGee nodded mutely, and suppressed the tiny rush he got when he was doing something like this. He turned back to him computer.

Half an hour passed before McGee finally looked up from his computer. "I think I've got something, boss." McGee looked slightly drained as he stood from behind his desk and walked over to the plasma.

Clicking the remote, he explained, "Most of Chernitskaya and Zukov's former associates are either dead, incarcerated or living the high life in the Bahamas." At Gibbs' hardened stare, McGee rushed on, "but Zukov had a brother or rather, has a brother, a younger half-brother: Grigori Yakovlev. Same mother, different fathers. They didn't grow up together and only got to know each other as adults." McGee shrugged. "It's the best I can get."

"No, no." Gibbs studied the grainy photograph of Grigori Yakovlev. "You did a good job, McGee. Can you track him?"

"I can try, but it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. You can bet he's got a false name, a false identity; it's practically impossible."

"Then make it possible," Gibbs ordered, snapping slightly.

McGee nodded as a voice said, "Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs spun around, ready to lay into whoever was disturbing their investigation, but found the same young male support staff member who'd delivered the package with Jenny's necklace earlier on. With a forlorn look, Gibbs noticed that he was now clutching an envelope.

"What?" Gibbs snapped.

The man looked nervous and stuck out a hand clutching the envelope. "This came for you just now, at least us down in support think it's for you."

Gibbs all but snatched the envelope out of the boy's hand as he finished, "I mean it has your name on the front, but on the back . . ."

Gibbs flipped the envelope over and staring back at him was the name:

Mr Oshimaida . . .


	5. Chapter Four: Fight or Flight

**Chapter Four:** _Fight or Flight _

If Gibbs was shocked, he hid it well. Carefully and with a blank face, he slit open the envelope and shook out its contents. A folded piece of notepaper drifted onto his desk. His team and Franks stared at it for a moment, dumbstruck.

Then Tony said flippantly, "At least it wasn't the plague . . . Ouch." Tony turned as McGee whacked him on the arm and gave him a look that clearly said 'shut up.' Ziva glared at him, and Gibbs paid him no attention.

Instead, Gibbs reached for the folded paper and opened it casually. The lined paper contained only four numbers and two letters. He held it up for the others to read.

"Latitude and longitude," McGee immediately summarised and at Gibbs' look, amended, "but you already knew that." He paused. "You want me to find out what they represent." Gibbs looked at him. "On it, boss!"

"But why . . .?" Tony muttered, drawing out the why.

"Could be a trap?" Ziva offered. "Another chance to try and kill you, yes?"

"Perhaps," Gibbs mused,, looking thoughtful. "Guess we won't know until we know what the coordinates mean."

"You sure they're from Yakovlev?" Tony questioned.

Gibbs shrugged. "Nope, just an educated guess."

"So what," Tony started, "you think he's out for revenge?"

"That's generally the way it goes, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied testily.

"Then why wait so long?"

"Opportunity, perhaps," Ziva suggested. "Maybe he has not been able to find Gibbs before now, perhaps he couldn't."

"Still . . ." Tony mused as McGee let out an excited sound from his desk.

"Got it, boss!" he announced. "It's an address in Georgetown. Um . . ."

"29 Grace Street," Gibbs finished for him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Um, yeah, how did you . . ." McGee trailed off and his eyes widened. "The Director's house!"

"Or what's left of it," Gibbs muttered darkly.

After a long pause, Gibbs pulled open his draw with a little more force than necessary and pulled out his weapon. He holstered it, and his hand hovered over his badge and his ID. He withdrew his hand and slammed the draw shut. He stood abruptly and made a move to storm over to the edge of the bullpen.

Tony got in his way. "Boss, what are you doing?" he asked warily.

Gibbs sighed, exasperated. "What do you think, DiNozzo?"

"But," Tony protested, "what if it's a trap?"

"Then I'll deal with it."

"You'll need back-up," he pressed and looked as though he was about to reach for his weapon tucked in his desk draw.

Gibbs shook his head firmly and snapped, "No."

"But, boss," Tony almost pleaded.

"No means no, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped again, and then softened just a little bit. "No one else is going to die, not on my watch."

"Oh, and you're just collateral damage, huh," Tony bit back bitterly.

"Better me than you, Tony," Gibbs replied evenly. Tony harrumphed and folded his arms with a glare on his face. He looked bitterly at Gibbs, and almost seemed betrayed by the perceived lack of trust Gibbs seemed to have in him.

"Tony's right," McGee agreed tentatively. "You just can't go by yourself."

"I will go," Ziva volunteered and didn't wither under Gibbs' famous stare. "I can handle myself, Gibbs."

"I know that, Ziva," Gibbs agreed and then said under his breath, "but we just got you back." Ziva looked incensed, but said nothing.

"None of you are coming," he said finally, looking pointedly at his three subordinates. "That's an order." McGee nodded, but Tony and Ziva looked as though they would protest. Gibbs cut them off with a sharp look.

Then Franks stepped forward. "I'll go with you, Probie," he volunteered, though it sounded more as though he was telling Gibbs he was going with him.

And when Gibbs looked as though he'd argue, he said gruffly, "I'm not one of your team, Gibbs. I don't take orders from you or NCIS. I'm a free man and say I just happened to be in the neighbourhood . . ."

Gibbs sighed, but didn't try to argue; it would be futile. "Fine," Gibbs remarked. "Have you got a weapon?"

"Really, Probie, I highly doubt customs would have let me through with a gun."

"Fine, take DiNozzo's."

"What?" Tony yelped.

"You heard me. Hand over your weapon."

"But that like breaking, uh, five different . . ." Gibbs' harsh stare cut McGee off mid-sentence. "I didn't hear a thing," McGee muttered.

Grudgingly, Tony handed his weapon over to Franks. "If anything hinky happens with that gun," Tony warned.

"Then I'll take full responsibly," Gibbs finished firmly. "You're not gonna lose your job, DiNozzo, not today anyhow."

"Hmm, thanks, I think."

Franks checked the weapon before tucking it in the waistband of his trousers. "You ready, Probie."

Gibbs gave his team one last look. "Yep. Let's do this."

---

Gibbs was silent as they got out of the car. Franks shot him a look, but Gibbs ignored it and soldiered forward purposely. He paused just for a moment in front of the block of land that used to house the Director's house.

"You okay, Probie?" Franks asked, coming up behind Gibbs and surveying the empty lot. The remains of the house had been bulldozed and now all that was left was a barren patch of dirt with a few sprigs of grass growing.

"Fine." Gibbs brushed off Franks' concern. "So now what?"

"You tell me, Probie," Franks replied.

Gibbs stepped onto the block of land; it was dry and dusty, though the air was chilly. Gibbs shivered slightly in the breeze, though he wondered if it was just the breeze. He'd been back here only once, when the machinery had come to demolish the remains. The land was still on the Director's name, and even two years on, no one had bothered to (or been able to) sell the land. So it sat, empty.

"Are you sure he's gonna show," Franks queried as he followed Gibbs onto the land.

"Oh, he'll show," Gibbs said firmly. "He knows I'm still alive, he wouldn't have given me the letter otherwise. He'll be watching."

And Gibbs was right because at that moment, a heavily accented voice said from behind him, "Very observant, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs and Franks turned slowly. Behind them was the man they assumed to be Grigori Yakovlev, though he looked a little older than he did in the grainy photograph. Casually, Gibbs said, "Grigori Yakovlev?"

"The one and the same," Yakovlev replied in his accented voice. "And you are Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, of course."

"What do you want?" Gibbs asked, cutting to the chase.

Yakovlev laughed. "I thought that would have been obvious." He eyed Mike Franks. "Your back-up?"

Gibbs shook his head and said flippantly, "Nope. My driver."

"Well, good," Yakovlev replied in a lilting voice, though it was clear he didn't believe Gibbs. "I would not like for unnecessary blood to be shed."

"So this is a hit?" Gibbs summarised.

"In a way," Yakovlev mused, cocking his head to the side. He started walking towards Gibbs and Gibbs immediately put his hand on his holstered gun.

Yakovlev tut-tutted. "Now, now, Agent Gibbs, that is most unseemly." He raised his hands and shucked off his coat. "I am unarmed."

He pulled up the legs of his trousers before putting his coat back on. "Guns," he started, "are rather un-gentlemanly. You used a weapon to kill my brother. How disappointing. No, if we are going to do anything, we will do it as men. Unarm yourself."

Gibbs didn't move so Yakovlev sighed. "I am asking you nicely, Agent Gibbs. But I will not hesitate to use more unseemly techniques." He pulled out his cell phone and pressed a button. "That forensic scientist of yours I assume is tucked up in bed. 38 Lester Avenue, wasn't it?"

With the man's almost cheerful threat against Abby, Gibbs reluctantly pulled out his gun and made a move to hand it to Franks.

"Uh-uh," Yakovlev chided. "Toss it over there. And you." He pointed to Franks. "Get rid of yours as well." Franks shrugged and pulled out Tony's gun, tossing it next to Gibbs'.

"So now what?" Gibbs asked testily.

Yakovlev walked closer again. "You killed my half-brother, Agent Gibbs. Where I come from, that is the ultimate betrayal."

Gibbs shrugged. Yakovlev was about two feet away from him. "And? You expect me to apologise for doing my job? I am sorry you lost your brother, but I am not sorry that one less assassin is roaming the streets."

"My brother was a good man persecuted by his country," Yakovlev hissed, looking dangerous.

"Good men do not kill others."

"You kill others, Agent Gibbs," Yakovlev retorted casually. "As a federal agent, as a sniper in the Marine Corps. How, pray tell, does that make you a good person?"

Gibbs was thrown for a second and then recovered, "This is not about me."

"Au contraire, this is everything to do with you," Yakovlev replied and lunged at Gibbs.

Before Gibbs had a chance to react, Yakovlev had driven him into the ground and was throwing the first punch. Instinctively, Gibbs twisted his head to the side and avoided the full force of Yakovlev's action, though it still clipped the side of his head. Yakovlev tried again, but Gibbs had gotten his bearings back and he managed to block Yakovlev's next few blows.

"An eye for an eye, they say," Yakovlev muttered as he changed tactics and attempted to get his hands around Gibbs' throat. He was a skilled fighter, but so was Gibbs.

"Then why wait so long?" Gibbs managed to say, sounding breathless.

"I was – indisposed," Yakovlev said vaguely as he nearly managed to get a firm grip on Gibbs.

But then Gibbs shifted his knee and rammed it into Yakovlev's crotch. He was, after all, only a man so he stumbled backwards, his face contorted in pain. Gibbs used this to his advantage and got to his feet. His lip was split and he had a couple of bruises, but otherwise he was fine. It took a couple of moments for Yakovlev to gather himself and lung again at Gibbs. This time, Gibbs caught him around the neck and held him in a headlock.

"You going to kill me, Agent Gibbs?" he rasped.

Gibbs was tempted to tighten his hold, but shook his head. "No, as my colleague once said, I am an investigator, not a killer. I believe there is a nice cell with your name on it. That's what I'm going to do."

"How noble," Yakovlev remarked dryly. "I suppose I should thank you." His face twisted into a sadistic smile. "I shall leave you with some parting words, then."

He grinned and said hoarsely, "In Paris, your failed mission to kill my brother and Svettie wasn't Jenny Shepard's fault."

Had he been a different man, Gibbs' mouth might have dropped open in shock. As it was, his grip on Yakovlev loosened just a little as he tried to comprehend his words. "What?"

"Oh, it's as exactly as I said," Yakovlev grinned evilly. "The failed hit was not dear Jenny's fault. Had the mission been finished and Svettie killed, your Director would still be alive and kicking. Such a mad world we live in, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs, in his apparent shock, all but let go of Yakovlev who used that to his advantage. Flipping him over, and driving him back to the ground, Yakovlev put his hands around Gibbs' throat and pressed. Then, a shot rang out and Yakovlev's head jerked backwards. He collapsed to the side and fell.

Blindly, Gibbs pushed him away and scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily. He rubbed his throat and turned to face Franks. Franks was standing there, slightly grim, with an unfamiliar weapon trained on Yakovlev's dead body. Gibbs looked down at the body, a neat bullet hole smack bang in the middle of his forehead, and then back to Franks.

Franks shrugged. "Just because the airlines wouldn't let me carry onboard, didn't mean I wasn't carrying. And not even a thank you, Probie? I just saved your life."


	6. Epilogue: The End is Where We Begin

**Epilogue:** _The End is Where We Begin_

It was well into the night when Gibbs arrived back at NCIS headquarters. He heavily sat down at his desk feeling exhausted and drained. He had sent Tony, Ziva and McGee home a little while ago, via a phone call. He could scarcely believe that it had just been a little over twenty-four hours since he'd first gotten the call about his house. God . . . that was another thing to add to his list; where he would stay until he found somewhere new.

Gibbs groaned and massaged his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. Then the elevator bell dinged and heavy footsteps made their way into the bullpen and up to his desk. Gibbs didn't need to look up; he knew who it was.

"It's all done," Franks said quietly, his face slightly sinister in the dullness of the squad room. "All evidence has been removed. There were no witnesses. Someone will find him and metro be'll called. It can't be traced back to us."

Gibbs nodded; he didn't even feel as though he had the energy to respond with words. What a bloody mess this was. And what did Yakovlev mean about Paris not being Jenny's fault? Just thinking about it made Gibbs' head ache.

As though sensing what he was thinking, Franks said, "Don't dwell on it, Probie. It was probably just Yakovlev looking for a cheap shot."

"Then why say it; why say that?"

Franks shrugged. "Who knows what was going on in that crazed out brain of his?"

"Still," Gibbs mused, "what if . . ."

"Don't, Probie, just don't. You'll just set yourself up for heartbreak. Forget about it; it's over now," Franks advised firmly.

"It doesn't feel over," Gibbs retorted and Franks sighed.

"Believe what you like, but I have a siesta to get back to. I take it you don't need me anymore," Franks said, feeling cheerful that he could finally go home.

Gibbs nodded and replied, "Thanks for your help, Mike."

Franks smiled fondly. "No problem, Probie. Just don't make a habit out of it."

Gibbs cracked a grin and looked up at his former boss and mentor. "Take care, yeah."

"You too," Franks answered. "No more pissing off people who then want to kill you." Leaning over Gibbs' desk, Franks stretched out his hand and Gibbs took it firmly.

Franks smiled and turned to exit the bullpen. But before he moved, he said, "Oh, by the way, maybe it's time." Without saying another word, Franks dumped an envelope onto Gibbs' desk and sauntered out the bullpen and over to the elevator.

Gibbs waited until Franks had given him a nod goodbye and had stepped into the elevator before looking down at the envelope Franks had left behind.

Decker's insurance policy.

Gibbs reached for it, but hesitated. Maybe Franks was right, maybe it was over, but his gut was telling him otherwise. He glanced at his watch. It was late and he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, but there was something about the envelope that had Gibbs carefully slicing open the top of it.

He pulled out the papers inside and groaned internally when he realised the insurance policy was like a small manifesto. Tiredly, he flicked through the pages, scanning the words as they passed. He wasn't really reading them; there would be time for that later. But then he stopped. His eye had caught a name. He backtracked and stared at the name for a full minute before he managed to shake himself out of his shocked stupor.

Staring back at him was the name _Leon Vance_ . . .

_Fin._

_

* * *

_**A/N** I know nothing has been resolved, but the requirements of the challenge were to end on a cliffhanger; I know the ending is unresolved and that was the point. I have a very tentative idea for a sequel which may eventuate into a story, but we'll see. Thanks for reading anyhow.


End file.
